


The Chair

by Lilys_Eyes



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Angst, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 03:15:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7668022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilys_Eyes/pseuds/Lilys_Eyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Chair can make all your dreams come true…and your nightmares. Inspired by Emigrate`s  “New York City” video.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Chair

**Author's Note:**

> This is a complete work of fiction. I do not know Emigrate or Richard Kruspe. Also, no money is made from this.

He hadn`t wanted to come back, had vowed to himself he wouldn`t. Even now, staring almost dazedly at the door before him, the urge to flee was overwhelming. But somehow his body would keep steering him back there, time after time. His heart thudding with dread and anticipation, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, his lungs greedily sucking in the acrid smoke of a seemingly endless chain of cigarettes while his feet pounded out the same dull rhythm on the asphalt. Turn… back…turn… back… turn… back.

  
The short man opening the door has stopped asking him what he wants a long time ago. He just indifferently keeps on puffing away on his ever- present cigar and turns to lead him to The Chair. The brief walk through the dingy, musty – smelling corridors seems both far too short and excruciatingly endless, before the red light welcomes him home, beckoning like an evil beacon in the night.

  
Inside the room, The Chair is waiting for him, patiently, confidently, mercilessly. Sometimes he almost thinks that it knows. Knows he`ll always come crawling back and all it has to do is wait, wait, wait, a ravenous vulture expecting its complicit prey.  
Carelessly he shrugs off his coat before briefly running his hands across the armrests. He will never get over just how fucking fitting it is, that whoever built the thing, gave it the shape of an incomplete pentagram. Soon it would raise him up towards the heavens again, higher and higher but never quite reaching it, never quite letting him touch it, before hurling him down into the blackest depths of hell with unshakable certainty. And every time he falls, burning like a dying sun.  
He sits down and immediately lights up again, the nicotine mixing nicely with the twisted thrill of excitement that’s rushing through him. And now he can already feel it begin, the pull of The Chair as it begins to slowly creep into his mind, taking over little by little. A welcome violation that yet never fails to sicken him to his very core.  
Here I come, baby, he thinks before reality melts away around him. Have you missed me?

  
She never has, she can`t, ever. Can`t miss him, need him, love him, hate him. Can`t ever know the crushing despair that has slowly been grinding him into a mess of brittle bones, raw skin and cold ashes over the past five months. Five months since they pulled her from the river, five months of trying to find an answer, knowing there never would be one. Five months to let him drive himself insane, trying to find out just what it was that he had done or what it was that he hadn`t done, trying to find out just how he had failed her.

  
She won`t tell him this time either, but she is here now, at last. And he watches, ripped wide open by horror and hunger, as she smoothly stalks towards him. Her red lips pouting sulkily at him, her perfect tits moving subtly with each step, her porcelain skin shimmering softly in the dizzying murk around them.  
And he wants to rush towards her, wants to crush her to him, wants to weep and tell her how much he misses her , how much he needs her. He wants to backhand her across her beautiful, empty face, wants to see tears in her eyes, wants to make her hurt just like she made him hurt when she left him.

  
But he doesn`t move, just waits for her to slide onto his lap. Her arms wrap around his neck and the illusion is wearing thin already. He can`t smell the scent of her skin, can`t feel the warmth of her breath on his face. And yet he kisses her, hungrily, deeply, as if he still could somehow find again the taste of her mouth if he only tried hard enough.  
The feel of her lips, the slide of her tongue as she flicks it into his mouth is so fucking perfect, so terribly, coldly perfect and a groan is wrenched from his throat as he roughly runs his hands all over her body, squeezing and kneading her heavy tits before sliding them down her firm, flawless ass. She begins to grind herself against him, cooing and sighing because the accursed Chair cannot ever give her words, cannot ever let him hear her voice again.

  
He wants to push her off his lap, this voracious, speechless perversion, but she is already eagerly palming and stroking him through his pants and he simply can`t. He tears at her bra until he has rent it from her body, his nails grazing the skin of her back, leaving no trace. She lets out another raspy moan as he begins to kiss and suckle her tits, her fingers threading through his hair as if she were afraid he might stop. But he is just as unable to stop as she is unable to be afraid.  
One of his hands slides inside her panties, his fingers encountering the slick wetness he knew he would find there. She arches her back and gasps with a pleasure he hates her for not feeling, as his fingers slide inside her. Kissing him frantically again, her hands tear at his zipper for a brief moment before he finally feels her wrap her hand around his erection. Now it is his turn to gasp as she begins to stroke him with excruciating slowness, her grasp on his aching flesh almost painfully tight.  
He loses himself in the sensation of her touch for a while, raising his fingers to his mouth and dreamily licking them, trying to taste her essence only once more. There is nothing, only the stale taste of the nicotine that has begun to stain his fingers. The spell breaks immediately and he angrily pushes her hands away and attempts to rise from the Chair, her legs reflexively wrapping around him.

  
For a brief moment he almost to manages to escape the illusion, but her hands begin to draw lazy circles on his back as if she wants to soothe him, and nuzzling against his neck, her tongue flicks out to repeatedly lick at the hammering pulse there. It is all calculated, he knows only too well, and yet it doesn`t fail, his sudden rage sinking back into a sea of lust and despair. One of her calves slides sinuously down over his hip as she runs her hands across his chest, her fingers briefly teasing his nipples through the cool silk of his shirt, her smile a perfect imitation of wickedness as she now sinks to her knees before him.  
His head falls back as he closes his eyes, her face seared into the darkness behind his eyelids, and he bites his lip until he tastes blood when she takes him into her mouth. Her tongue is like wet, hot velvet, caressing his cock with small pointed licks. It is a little easier to pretend when he cannot see her eyes, and for a moment he can almost believe…believe that this is in some way an act of love, of desire, of wanting to give pleasure. But when she lets his cock glide from her lips again, kissing it briefly, there is still only the vacant, false arousal in her gaze.

Both hating and needing that gaze, he doesn`t look away when she irresistibly pulls him into another kiss and begins to sensuously rub herself against him again.  
The fabric of her panties tears like cobweb under his hands, his fingers once more inside her now, this time probing roughly. She lets out a high – pitched, keening cry before beginning to claw at his shirt like a cat. He puts her down only briefly enough to rid himself of his pants and shirt, before he once more crushes her to him, the feel of her naked body against his skin so sweet, so perfect, so wrong.  
She runs her hands appreciatively across his chest, letting out small, happy purrs against his mouth, and he can`t fight the feeling of perverse pleasure at her approval. Her sharp nails graze a nipple, drawing a hiss from his lips before she soothes the tiny bud again with her gently lapping tongue. The tenderness is by far the hardest to take, and he can`t stand it for long before he pulls her into a rough kiss again.

  
Sliding a thigh between her legs he lets her rub herself against it for a few moments, letting her slick it with her sterile nectar as she strokes him again in time with her movements. Her eyes meet his, empty dark orbs under lasciviously lowered lids, and it is almost unbearable to look into them now. Gracelessly dropping to his knees he pulls her with him, a tangle of limbs frantically touching, searching, needing. He can`t wait any longer, needs her so badly now, and although he can never have her again, he can still have this.  
Her hands sliding down across his shoulder blades she pulls him on top of her, her legs spreading eagerly for him. He laves her tits with his tongue again, suddenly wanting to draw the moment out, steeling himself for that instance that is so beautiful and terrible, like a sharp silver needle sliding gently into his flesh. She begins to writhe beneath him, her hips rising in a sinuous rhythm ,inviting him, urging him.  
If only she could ever need him like that again.

Gooseflesh prickles on his arms as he frames her face with his hands, he can`t deny himself any longer, and he needs to see, needs that look in her eyes as he enters her. There is no recognition in them though, even as her mouth falls open to release a silent gasp. And for a second he wants to choke her for this heartless mimicry, but she is so hot and tight around him now, and his body remembers only too well. The Chair can suck every sensation he has ever experienced, every pleasure, every pain out of his mind like a vampire, can let him relive them over and over again, it is the soul, the love that remains gone forever.  
And yet it feels good, too good and he hides his face against the crook of her neck, can´t even stand to let this ghost look at him now as his entire body shivers with barely controlled need. When he turns his face now to gaze at her, there`ll be desire in her eyes, desire for him alone, for his body, his heart, his soul. And love, a love he had wanted and needed all his life, a love he`d thought he`d found with her.

  
“Please.” The whisper has left his lips before he can stop himself.  
But there`s nothing but The Chairs` twisted reflection of her in his arms, and he can´t tell if the sound rising up in his throat is a moan or a sob. It doesn`t matter anyway, he has to move now, can`t resist the addictive torture of her body any longer. He withdraws only to thrust deeply into her again, and she echoes the scream that`s wrenched from his lips. Her legs wrap around him, drawing him still closer as her mouth falls open beneath his once more and he is lost. Lost for good, lost forever.  
It doesn´t matter that it`s wrong anymore, it doesn`t matter that he`s holding the shadow of a dead woman in his arms, nothing matters anymore but this perfect deception that holds him completely captive now. Nerve ends, already raw with sensation, scream with white - hot hunger for more of this brilliant, tranquilizing pain. And he can never get enough, never, can hardly tear his mouth from hers long enough to gasp for breath as his hands roam over her body, touching, caressing, squeezing hard enough for it to have bruised real flesh and skin.

  
Sharp teeth sink deeply into his neck, and he would give anything for them to leave a mark, would give anything if her nails, that graze his back and shoulders now, left deep lacerations so at least the scars would stay with him forever. But he cannot even taste the salt of her sweat that glistens like diamonds on her tits now as he kisses and suckles them over and over again. Moaning she rolls them over until she is straddling him, towering above him like a goddess, pushing him down with surprising strength, only letting him worship her with tortuous slowness.  
And he gazes up at her with sick gratitude as she breaks him so completely and utterly with every move. Loves the destruction she wreaks every time she clenches around him, every time her fingers brush lazily across his lips to let him kiss them. He`ll never be alright again, never be sane enough again to quit this. Gooseflesh now breaks out all over his body with twisted, exciting dread as he writhes frantically beneath her.

  
He is on top of her again now, driving into her with a force born of desperation. Feel something, anything, just this once, need me, want me, love me like I need and want and love you. Fat drops of water fall onto her skin as she wraps her legs around him again, drawing him deeper still, imprisoning him in her false heat. And the blade, that had been hovering just above his heart is finally thrust home, ripping him open and eviscerating him with one icy sweep as he comes, sobbing with pain and ecstasy against the crook of her neck.

  
The Chair has done its work, its invasion gradually ceasing, leaving him not at peace but cold and empty and dead…like her. He blinks sluggishly as his surroundings bleed into view again, feeling mercifully detached. Mechanically picking up his coat, he shrugs it on and lights up again. Now for a short, too short while he`ll be able to function, to somehow exist. Then the granite of his soul will begin to weaken, to crack again and the darkness once more will begin to seep through. He gives The Chair one last glance as he leaves. The pain will be back, he knows, and so will he.


End file.
